


Duty

by Sacrosanctimonious



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: F/F, and the rest of the crew but less so, i bet you can guess which character dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24508318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sacrosanctimonious/pseuds/Sacrosanctimonious
Summary: The Silent World's not a good place for a budding romance.
Relationships: Tuuri Hotakainen/Sigrun Eide
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Duty

The stars are out in all their glory tonight. Tuuri loved those. She’d spend hours awake at night when they were safe, just looking at the sky. Sigrun herself was always quite fond of the way a clear sea looked under a cloudless sky. The water’s choppy here, though, frothing with foam where it meets the shore. Nothing can be heard but the low whisper of the waves against the sand. Even Lalli’s silent, kneeling in the water, letting the spray buffet him. His shoulders shake with tears, but he can’t seem to bring himself to break that awful silence.

Emil’s there by him, saying nothing, just letting his presence say what he can’t put to words. Mikkel and Reynir are some way back yet. Tuuri’s in that endless expanse of ocean, she knows. She might not even be that far. But in another truer sense, she’s gone. It all seems so terribly abrupt. She knew, of course. They all knew how things were going to go, right from the very first moment. But some small part of her had hoped, against all odds, that maybe this one time-

Sigrun just stands there, looking out into the sea. She doesn’t let herself cry. The first thought that comes into her mind isn’t one of mourning, or disbelief (she’s spent too long in the military not to believe) but: _I failed_. She’s failed Tuuri-she failed them all- in letting her be infected. She’s failed them in letting herself hope so stupidly. She’s failed them in letting those under her care die in her place. Not thirty minutes ago they’d been speaking. If only in that time she’d asked Tuuri, she could have stopped her, or made this less painful, or by all the gods done something. It’s incredibly how so much can change in so short a timespan.

It’s over. She’s lost.

—

It’s four months ago, and the expedition’s only just begun. Sigrun’s filled with a kind of frantic energy, waiting for the first thing to go wrong. They hit their first target and miraculously, nothing does.

(Well, their scout gets lost in an exploding building, but she’ll take what she can get.)

Afterwards, they’ve debriefed near the old Kastrup fort. Emil’s in the tank, cleaning troll blood out of his hair, determined to get that sparkle of his back. Sigrun still smells like smoke, even after a thorough scrubbing. Tuuri’s reading outside. Sigrun can’t help but sneak a glance at the book, though she doesn’t really expect to get what’s inside. The images of a woman infected by the rash are clear enough to speak for themselves, however. She shudders slightly, and Tuuri must notice because she turns around with a grimace on her face.

“This stuff is pretty horrible reading,” she proclaims, “It’s honestly just kind of disturbing, imagining what it must have been like back then.” Sigrun must look hurt, though she sure doesn’t feel it, because Tuuri backpedals immediately. “I mean, not that I’m not _grateful_ , I—, thank you so much for these. You risked your life for this book, didn’t you?”

“Oh, no need to be grateful. I’m only doing my job, fuzzyhead.” She flashes her a grin.

Tuuri smiles sheepishly in response. “Of course. But, you know, you could risk your life a little less? I don’t really mind if I miss out on a few dusty old books that much.”

Sigrun nods, thinking little of it.

—

It’s later, and Sigrun's awake. The hour is something awful, of the type that makes her eyelids feel heavier when she sees it. She has to alternate between sitting up in bed and contorting her legs just to fit in the accursed bed, and the sound of rain, which might soothe others, only adds to her nerves.

Tuuri’s been up near the front of the tank, presumably transcribing whatever she finds of value in those books of hers. She’s done now, though, (which means it’s even later then she realised) and she comes into the back of the tank carrying just one book, a small thing with a cover filled with discoloured pastel shades. She sits herself down on the bed perpendicular to Sigrun’s own. Sigrun flops down helplessly onto Tuuri’s mattress.

“Tuuri, I can't sleep,” she says, voice something like a whine. Tuuri laughs at her, and Sigrun reaches up to muss her hair, indignant. Tuuri flips open the book and lays it on her lap, and begins to read. It’s a children’s story, and in Danish no less, but her voice is comforting enough to make up for it. She closes her eyes and lets herself drift away.

When she wakes it feels like barely a moment has passed, but the sunlight streaming in disagrees. Tuuri’s asleep too, leaning against her. She’s soft, a contrast to Sigrun’s own build, all hard lines of muscle and bone. Sigrun lets herself relax and just lies there. It’s a moment to catch her breath in the insanity of the Silent World. For the first time in a _very_ long time, she’s content.

—

It’s further on yet, and Sigrun’s walking along the old abandoned highway, Mikkel and Emil by her side. She’s been walking for some time when she sees the light up ahead and recognises the unmistakable profile of the cat-tank. Relief swells in her chest. The sky’s darkening, cloudbanks swelling in the twilight of the setting sun. Soon, their walk would have become considerably more dangerous. They’re incredibly lucky to have gotten this far to begin with.

Tuuri pokes her head out from the tank as they approach, face fraught with worry visible even through the mask. “I’m sorry!” she shouts, “I know you said to keep driving, but I couldn’t just go and-”

“Calm down, you’re forgiven. _This_ time. Don’t ignore my orders again, thanks.” Sigrun manages to inject quite some sternness into her voice despite the utter relief she feels at the sight. They step into the tank and are herded to the back by Mikkel to quarantine themselves. She can see her own relief reflected on Tuuri’s face on the way in, in the way she smiles at her when she comes up into the driver’s compartment to sit by her.

Later, when they’ve found their rest spot, they set up their tarpaulin for the night. Tuuri hugs her, quite suddenly, holding her tight to her chest. Sigrun hugs her back as Tuuri rests her head on her shoulders, having to stand on her tiptoes even to get this high. When she pulls away, her eyes seem to glitter in the sparse light. They hold each other as they drift off, saying nothing, needing to say nothing.

—

For a moment, it almost feels like things are going to be fine. More than fine, actually. She can’t quite put her finger on it, but for the first time during this entire trip, she feels like she’s accomplishing something greater than simply collecting books for a quick cash-in back home. She feels like something greater, like at long last she actually _matters_.

She’s back from that nightmare hospital in Odense, which crawled with the infection in a way she’d never seen before. She tells Tuuri about what they found inside- even now, she can barely believe it. It feels in some way impossible. The Rash is a constant in her life. To imagine a world without it seems as ridiculous as to imagine a world without oceans, or mountains, or people.

Tuuri kisses her, and the moment seems to last an eternity. She can feel Tuuri’s hands in her hair, and her own heart pounding in her chest. Tuuri breaks away, and she’s smiling. It feels like all the horrors this world’s shown her have been worth it, for this. It feels like she’s finally found her place.

This is something new. This is what it’s like to be plunged into hell, and to find yourself better for it. This is _winning_.

—

(It transpires that there is no cure after all, only a tool for parting men from their bodies. This is the first but not the last thing to go wrong.)

—

There’s a night when the sky’s black and the world burns and the spirits of the dead surround them. Awful things slink at the edges of her vision and one manages to get into the tank. She spends every night afterward torturing herself, wondering what she could have done differently.

—

And then there are no more words left to say.

Tuuri faces every morning with a smile on her face, and she’s still around, helping around the tank where she can, driving them toward a destination they all know she’ll never see. Sigrun finds herself enraptured by everything about her- the little giggles she still somehow manages when she hears a good joke, her moues of annoyance, that stupid hair. But every moment they’re together she can only feel like time’s running out.

Sigrun lets herself hope, despite everything. She pretends that they might have something more than just these next few weeks, a time which now feels crushingly short. Lalli’s letting himself fall into the same trap. Everyone’s acting as if things are going to be fine. She can feel the weight of all those unspoken words crushing her. They should hate her for her failure. They should condemn her, curse her, abhor her. Lalli is as courteous as ever (which is to say he’s distant and spends much of his time away from camp, but that’s not her problem). She sometimes feels like she’s the only one who understands what’s going to happen.

She lets it all out to Tuuri, one quiet night, in half-whispered sobs. It feels wrong, to already be in mourning for her rather than just enjoy what she has left, but she can’t help herself. Tuuri can only smile sadly in response, her own eyes shining with unshed tears. There’s no peace to be found in her arms, not now.

—

It’s now, and the sea is wide, and the sky is beautiful, and waves heave landward in the Vejle ford. It’s been maybe an hour. The three of them stand over a cairn for Tuuri, a ramshackle pile of stones. It feels like far too small a thing to remember her by. They couldn’t even lay her to rest, so all they can leave behind is a pile of lifeless rock. It’s an insult to her memory. Reynir’s sat some distance away, curled into a ball. She can barely stop herself from screaming at him, at forcing him to share in her own flagellation for letting Tuuri down, and only the knowledge she probably wouldn’t want that stops her.

Lalli’s somewhere in the woods, silent as ever, but his sorrow is a terrible thing. Emil leaves him to it, preferring to preside over the cairn. Sigrun almost wishes she could join him out there. She has a duty to see through to its end, though, and she can’t abandon it at this final juncture.

She turns away. “We have to go.”


End file.
